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Chocolate Chip Pancakes -- Sweet Sunday Morning Before the Long Wait

Four weeks to the March video call. Three and a half months to Busan. I am in the middle of what will be a long stretch of preparation now, and the preparation has become its own kind of life. I am preparing for the next call, for the next letter, for the next trip. I am cooking my way toward it. I am reading my way toward it (I bought four books this month about Korea — a memoir by an adoptee who visited her birth family, a novel set in Busan, a cookbook of regional Korean cuisine, a history of Korean-American adoption). I am practicing Korean phrases on index cards.

This week I wrote a long letter to Jisoo that was, in part, a reflection. I told her that I had spent the year trying to become a daughter to her and it had turned out to be the other way around too — she had spent the year trying to become a mother to me, and we had done it together, and it was not a straight line, and it had surprised both of us. She wrote back: "I did not expect to be a mother again. I thought I would be a relative. I am grateful I became a mother again, even at this age. You are patient with me. I am trying to be patient with myself. Thank you for teaching me."

That is the sentence I am living in this week. Thank you for teaching me. A mother thanking her daughter for teaching her how to be a mother. Adoption inverts some things. Reunion inverts others. The inversions are generative. They are also strange. I am still getting used to some of them.

Valentine's Day is next Monday. James and I are staying in. I am making him kalguksu, which he has been asking for; he is making me a Taiwanese dessert I have never had, which he will not name in advance. We will eat on the couch. We will watch something comforting. No big gesture. We do not need one. The big gesture was in September.

Work: I was sick again this week. A brutal cold. I worked from bed on Tuesday in pajamas. I took Wednesday off entirely. I was back at a lower setting on Thursday. The week was lost. I didn't mind. My body is louder than it used to be. It is telling me things about sustainability that I am starting to listen to.

Dr. Yoon: we talked about the shape of 2022. The wedding in September. The trip in May. The call in March. The arc of Karen's disease running in parallel with all of it. Dr. Yoon said, "You have a big year." I said, "I know." She said, "Stephanie, you are allowed to have a big year. Many people do not get big years. This one is yours." I wrote that down.

The recipe this week is hotteok — Korean sweet pancakes, filled with a molten mixture of brown sugar, cinnamon, and crushed walnuts. I made them on Sunday for James and myself, eating them hot, the sugar syrup burning a little at the corner of the mouth where it escapes. Hotteok is a street food — you buy them from carts in the winter in Korea and eat them walking down the cold street. I cannot walk a cold Korean street yet. I can make hotteok in my Capitol Hill kitchen and hand one to James and watch him wince at the heat and then grin. That is close enough for February 2022.

Hotteok is the recipe that belongs to this story — the molten sugar, the cold street, the specific ache of longing for a place you haven’t been yet. But the recipe I keep coming back to on the quiet Sunday mornings in between, when James is still half-asleep and I’m standing in the kitchen trying to feel ordinary, is a stack of chocolate chip pancakes: warm, simple, generous. There is something about making pancakes that asks very little of you intellectually and gives a great deal back emotionally, and in a season this full — letters, calls, countdowns, a cold that knocked me flat — I will take that trade every time.

Chocolate Chip Pancakes

Prep Time: 10 minutes | Cook Time: 20 minutes | Total Time: 30 minutes | Servings: 4 (about 12 pancakes)

Ingredients

  • 1 1/2 cups all-purpose flour
  • 2 tablespoons granulated sugar
  • 1 1/2 teaspoons baking powder
  • 1/2 teaspoon baking soda
  • 1/4 teaspoon salt
  • 1 1/4 cups buttermilk
  • 1 large egg
  • 2 tablespoons unsalted butter, melted and slightly cooled
  • 1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
  • 3/4 cup semi-sweet chocolate chips, plus more for topping
  • Butter or neutral oil, for the pan
  • Maple syrup, for serving

Instructions

  1. Mix dry ingredients. In a large bowl, whisk together the flour, sugar, baking powder, baking soda, and salt until evenly combined.
  2. Mix wet ingredients. In a separate medium bowl, whisk the buttermilk, egg, melted butter, and vanilla extract until smooth.
  3. Combine. Pour the wet ingredients into the dry ingredients and stir gently with a spatula until just combined — a few lumps are fine. Do not overmix, or the pancakes will be tough. Fold in the chocolate chips.
  4. Rest the batter. Let the batter sit for 5 minutes while you heat your pan. This allows the leavening to activate and results in fluffier pancakes.
  5. Heat the pan. Set a large non-stick skillet or griddle over medium heat. Add a small pat of butter or a light drizzle of oil and swirl to coat. The pan is ready when a drop of water skitters across the surface.
  6. Cook the pancakes. Pour about 1/4 cup of batter per pancake onto the skillet. Scatter a few extra chocolate chips on top if desired. Cook until bubbles form on the surface and the edges look set, about 2 to 3 minutes. Flip and cook for another 1 to 2 minutes until golden brown on the bottom. Adjust heat as needed between batches.
  7. Keep warm and serve. Transfer finished pancakes to a baking sheet in a 200°F oven to keep warm while you cook the remaining batches. Serve stacked, with maple syrup and extra butter.

Nutrition (per serving)

Calories: 410 | Protein: 9g | Fat: 16g | Carbs: 59g | Fiber: 2g | Sodium: 390mg

Stephanie Park
About the cook who shared this
Stephanie Park
Week 307 of Stephanie’s 30-year story · Seattle, Washington
Stephanie is a software engineer in Seattle, a new mom, and a Korean-American adoptee who spent twenty-five years not knowing where she came from. She was adopted as an infant by a white family in Bellevue who loved her completely and never cooked Korean food. At twenty-eight, she found her birth mother in Busan — and then she found herself in a kitchen, crying over her first homemade kimchi jjigae, because some things your body remembers even when your mind doesn't.

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